


Let’s see how far we’ve come

by isa_belle



Series: Dream smp [10]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angry Wilbur Soot, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo is in over his head but he's doing his best, Resurrection, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma, i started writing this a bit ago so it’s out of date, philza minecraft’s a+ parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29475366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle
Summary: And as Tommy slips out of consciousness into the cold dark, for the first time in a long time, Wilbur Soot wakes up.or,, my take on Wilbur's resurrection
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Eret & Wilbur Soot, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Ranboo & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Dream smp [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068152
Comments: 58
Kudos: 277





	1. Waking up at the start of the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

> is this like the third chapter fic im starting? yes, i have no self-control. i do plan on updating this regularly, though, bc a lot of it is already written. it's a little weird in the way that it's written, so let me know how you folks feel about it in the comments i suppose. enjoy :D
> 
> title from How Far We've Come by Matchbox Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this like the third chaptered fic im starting? yes, i have no self-control. i do plan on updating this regularly, though, bc a lot of it is already written. it's a little weird in the way that it's written, so let me know how you folks feel about it in the comments i suppose. enjoy :D
> 
> title from How Far We've Come by Matchbox Twenty

Tommy can’t focus.

“You know, I was watching.” His mouth says, noncommittally. His voice is airy and light and careless and everything he is not. 

He can barely hear himself over the ringing in his ears, the cotton in his brain, the unsteady thrum of his heartbeat, like a drum with no music to follow.Sharp tinnitus and static and  _ thump thump thump.  _

Ghostbur points him to the right position, smiling that big, clueless smile of his. Happy and kind and naive. Like it’s easy to stand in his own grave. 

He stumbled on this altar on his way home, the remains of this room in the rubble, Philza wielding that oh so familiar sword and muttering words Tommy was too far away to hear the first time. He realized where he stood and his body froze up, locked him in place. He couldn’t even manage to turn off his communicator, hang up on Tubbo as he frantically questioned him about his sudden silence through the little box. 

Ghostbur welcomed him right into whatever the fuck it is they were doing, as the space behind Tommy’s eyes blurred and blurred and blurred. 

“Stand there.” He says, or something like that. Tommy wouldn’t know, his head is underwater, his ears are clogged, his heart is pounding so hard the ground might be shaking beneath him. 

This is the button room.

Even the voice in his head is dazed as he thinks it. The Checkov's gun. Words scrawled on walls. The second traitor and the second button and the second explosion.  _Blow that motherfucker to smithereens._

This is the button room.

A picture frame to memories he’d rather forget. Wilbur’s sweet smile as he got stabbed through. Like it was a  _relief_ _._ Repeating that old phrase, that old mantra, an echo. (Tommy had only heard that bit of the story second hand, from Phil’s quivering lip, but he’d gotten a good enough picture for it to play in his dreams.) _It was never meant to be_ _._ A salute and a single tear. Then gone like a coward. He was a coward. (But he wasn’t, too. He was brave and he was weak and he was present and he was corruptible and he was broken and he was Tommy’s _brother_. He was everything Tommy had. He misses him and he doesn’t and it’s just as confusing as everything else he feels. Tommy said he wanted Wilbur back. Was that true?)

This is the button room. 

Full of memory, full of blood, deep in the soil.  _My unfinished symphony,_ Wilbur screamed overlooking the crater he made of their nation,  _forever unfinished_ _._ It feels like a prophesy now. 

This is the button room. 

The walls of it are gone, but even with the sun baring down, it still feels cold. Like the air refuses to hold any warmth ( _t_ _hump thump thump._ )

Tommy’s feet move without his permission, following the orders as he does. (As he does  _ now _ _._ ) The soldier in him isn’t really something he can quiet. And he’s more complicit these days than he’s ever been. He doesn’t bother to wonder why. (He doesn’t need to. He knows. But he doesn’t dare to think the name.)

He walks across the crater, almost recklessly. Putting too much weight on his feet, paying too little mind to the ledges. His self-preservation skills died when he was in exile, and he hasn’t bothered to build them back up. He can’t ground himself, hard as he tries. He distantly hears Tubbo’s voice from his communicator, nervously chattering, but he finally finds the button with his thumb and hangs up. Ranboo gives him a strange look, he can see it out of the corner of his eyes. Like he’s confused, like he cares.  _Funny._

Tommy’s dizzy. He doesn’t like the feeling of walking in a bad memory. He knows where he is, logically. But he feels so far removed. Like his head’s gone a fucked off, left to a different place, leaving his body behind. 

Time would probably be a better way to describe it, actually. _Left to a different time._

He walks on the stone now and the scene changes from a  _now_ to a  _then_ _,_ to an old scene, a million years ago. Standing across a smaller crater, with a raw throat and a broken heart and a _“_ _die like one_ _.”_ He shakes his head to right it. He’s not there anymore. (Where he is now isn’t any better.)

Tommy distantly registers movement around him. Ghostbur, badly monologuing, waving arms, and exaggerated delivery. (He can’t capture the crazed edge that Wilbur’s voice actually carried, the erratic  _ redness  _ of it, like a knife scratching porcelain, roughness where there should be something gentle. He moves like a puppet around his own words, they’re hollow from his lips. Like they’re mocking him.) Fundy clenches his fist and Eret tears away their gaze. Ranboo stares on with wide eyes. 

“What’s going on, Ranboo?” He asks, quietly. 

“I think they’re trying to resurrect him.”

And Tommy doesn’t know what to say to that.

They’re bringing him back.  _ Him _ _._ Wilbur. His brother, his friend, the traitor. They didn’t even bother to tell him. They were perfectly content to go on without him, but that’s not surprising considering the effort was being led by Phil. 

It’s not as if Tommy is opposed to bringing l Wil back, not at all. He misses Wilbur constantly, an ever-present ache in the back of his skull. A pain he’s terribly used to. It’s more that he’s afraid they’ll fail. That they’ll get rid of Ghostbur for good and bring back the fraying Wilbur from Pogtopia, who shouted and shoved and laughed like a dying man. Who looked at his country and decided that if it wasn’t his, it didn’t deserve to be anything. (Who looked at Tommy and decided the same thing.)

Tommy has nightmares about _that_ Wilbur. Ghostbur might not be his real brother, but he’s better than whatever Tommy shared a ravine with. 

Phil’s face is hard, even as his voice is gentle in its reassurances. A certain stoicism swims in the blue of his eyes as he holds his sword. His knuckles are white on the hilt, but his hands don’t shake. 

“You’re my son,” Phil says, almost softly,  _jarringly_ softly. Like he actually believes it. 

But then Ghostbur’s backing away with panic in his eyes, and nervousness creeps into his voice and he’s looking at Tommy and asking him if he wants Wilbur back and Tommy didn’t know, so Tommy says this: 

“Wilbur’s not like you, Ghostbur.” 

Wilbur was kind until he wasn’t anymore. Wilbur held him when he had nightmares as a kid, sang him to sleep. Wilbur fed him and taught him guitar and read him stories. Wilbur held his hand when the world was ugly and bandaged his wounds when he was hurt and slept at his bedside after the duel for L’manburg. Wilbur built a country to keep him safe, to keep him free. Wilbur kissed his forehead when he cried, washed his clothes, scolded him if he misbehaved. Wilbur taught him to read and taught him to fight and taught him to love. Where he had no father,  _Tommy had his big brother._

Until he didn’t. Until a country fell into cruel hands and those hands sent them to a cold ravine deep in the woods. Until those hands held a gun to their heads and Wil told him to run. Until the kindness of a brother turned red and spoiled. Until years of struggle, of raising a child as a child, of losing and losing and losing made Wilbur resentful. Brash. Aggressive. Until TNT fit in Wilbur’s hand easier than Tommy’s own. 

“You know, you’re all poggers.”

Ghostbur is forgetful. He’s pleasant and he isn’t Wil, even if he tries to pretend to be sometimes. He hands out blue and soft smiles and runs when he’s uncomfortable. He followed Tommy to exile, built him a home. He tried to fix Wilbur’s mistakes, shape New L’manburg into something beautiful, something permanent. It was fruitless, of course. But he _tried._

“Wilbur was not so poggers.” 

Phil laughs at that and Tommy doesn’t. It feels like a secret when he says it. Maybe it is one. To admit that his brother was less than perfect. That it’s possible that venom always existed within him, even as he cradled Tommy as a child. To think he was always capable of what he did. That the Wilbur who raised him is the same one who destroyed himself. 

Tommy’s hands shake and he pulls a carrot from his pocket, tentatively hands it to Ghostbur, who smiles sweetly. 

“I’m calm,” he says, and Tommy shakily smiles back. 

Tommy sinks back into his head. He can’t hear what they’re saying now, it sounds muffled and far away. But he can see when they pick it back up, right where they left off. Feet on gravel and “Kill me Phil” and “you’re my son” and the same old sword and “the scar that hurts.” And Tommy’s left breathless, no air in his lungs to breathe.

His ears buzz, his heart pounds,  _thump thump thump thump._

Because it’s happening all over again.  _Do it. _A sword through his brother, so quick but so slow. Blood. Agony in his chest, his heart bursting with a pain so sharp it’s like dying, and he’d know. A scream that echos for too long, ringing in Tommy’s ears, white noise in his brain, _thump thump thump thump thump._ Wilbur is gone and  _Ghostbur_ is gone and he’s alone again because he’s always fucking alone. 

A panicked cry tears its way from his throat. ( _“G_ _hostbur! _ _”_ ) A hand lands on his shoulder but he flinches and shrivels away _. _ It’s happening again, his brother is gone again. 

Tommy gasps, choking on air that refuses to go in, eyes welling up. Everything is blurry and his eyes sting and he’s sick and his chest  _burns_ and he’s so afraid he’s lost even more. (All he ever seems to do is lose.)

(He supposes that might be on him.)

Tommy’s drowning.  Silence hangs in the air for a moment, the echo of his shout clinging to the stone rubble around them, his panicked breathing the only sound, his blood frozen, so cold in burns his veins. 

Then there’s a yelp, a soft exclamation, and a groan of frustration that sends relief into Tommy like a flood. 

He’s back. Yellow and blue and very much not Wilbur. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well there's that. i hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> did you know it costs zero dollars to leave a comment? do with that information what you will.  
> anyway, enough of my shenanigans. i hope you all are having wonderful days :)
> 
> Byee


	2. We're gonna pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well that was bloody anticlimactic,” Ghostbur says, and Tommy could cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm readjusting the formatting of this ignore me

Ranboo never knew Alivebur. He arrived too late to meet him, just in time to see the consequences of his actions. 

Ranboo has heard stories, though. President gone mad. ‘Let’s be the bad guys.’ He can see the scars he left behind, the damage he dealt then abandoned. Tubbo says Tommy used to smile easier. Stand up straight. He’s sure Tubbo did too. He’s seen Fundy and his anger, messy and complicated. Niki and the way she goes quiet when his name is said. He knows the way Philza grips his sword is shakier. Techno is more closed off than ever. And it makes sense. After all, L’manburg wasn’t always over water. 

They’re re-enacting an old scene. Ghostbur is innocent in his ignorance as he always is, messing up lines and seeming to forget that this is traumatic for everyone around him. 

“I was watching, you know,” Tommy said as he arrived, so casually, like the situation left him unscathed. His eyes had a glassiness to them, though, and his hands shook at his sides. He took in the scene like a ghost almost, quiet in a way Ranboo is pretty certain he wasn’t before. And he looked at Phil with complication clouding his eyes. Ranboo feels a little pang in his chest, of sympathy. Everyone always gives Tommy such a bad rap, but the poor guy didn’t ask for this. He’s as much of an unwilling participant as Ranboo himself. 

Ghostbur just kept talking, kept acting, unaware of his brother’s discomfort. 

Ranboo shifts his weight near the back of their group, foot to foot, awkwardly, as Ghostbur and Phil do their dance, say their words. 

Being here feels like an intrusion. He sees the determination set on Philza’s face, the tight smile locked onto Eret’s lips, the nervous darting of Fundy’s eyes, Ghostbur to Phil to the shrine to the ground and around again. And he sees Tommy, still looking dazed, breathing heavy, standing shock still as he watches his brother die again, watches his father deliver the killing blow. His tail wraps Tommy’s hand. A weak attempt at comfort. 

Ghostbur stands before the group, fumbling over his lines. He looks a bit uncomfortable with the situation, which Ranboo thinks is understandable. This is his death after all.

They play the scene, recite their lines. 

“Kill me!” Ghostbur says, his voice airy and hollow. “Killza.”

Then Phil says “you’re my son” like it  _ hurts._

But Ghostbur’s eyes widen and he says “stop wait, Phil, I’m scared.” And Phil starts cooing like he’s coaxing a spooked animal and Tommy’s body is so rigid Ranboo’s afraid he’ll collapse. 

“Tommy, do you want Wilbur back?” Eyes on Tommy, who looks like he’s holding himself together with fraying strings. “You said you did.”

Tommy steps forward on shaky legs, blinks like he’s thinking hard. 

“Wilbur isn’t like you.” He says, “you’re all poggers.” Phil laughs and Tommy winces at the sound. “Wilbur was not so poggers,” he whispers, very close to Ghostbur, who nods earnestly. 

“Well I don’t wanna be not so poggers,” he bites his lip and Tommy hands him a carrot, much to Ranboo’s bewilderment. Ghostbur pats his brother’s shoulder lightly. “I’m calm.”

Tommy backs away. Shrinking a bit beside Ranboo. 

Eret steps up. “There’s a fox out there who needs a father.” He says. 

“There’s a world out there that needs a leader.”

And  _ oh. _

That’s what he thinks this is. 

“I’m not a strong man.” His eyes find the bottom of the crater, Phil glances away. “I’m not even a man, really,” he laughs. “This place is so torn, we need unity again. And Alivebur is the only one I think can bring that.” 

Ghostbur is predictable. He’s apologetic and forgetful, and Ranboo gets that, he sympathizes. But he’s always trying to compensate for mistakes he didn’t make. If he had to bet, Ranboo would guess that this is just an extension of that. One more good thing he can do. Something he can do for his bother. 

It’s admirable, if foolish. 

“We need it to work.” He says it with finality. Maybe that’s the only way it can be said. 

So they get back in position. Tommy stands near catatonic by his side. Ghostbur says “it wasn’t ever mean to-this is not the way how it was supposed-it was-it was.” He shakes his head like he’s shaking dust from his brain and says “it was never meant to be” as their ragtag group winces as a whole, united only in their fear. 

“Tommy makes explosion sounds,” Ghostbur says, and Tommy does so immediately, like he’s scared something will happen if he doesn’t get the sound out quick enough. 

“Kill me, Phil. Kill me. Killza. Killza!” Ghostbur’s breathing is labored like he’s panicking through the act. 

“You’re my son!” Phil shouts, and Tommy throws his hands in front of his face, and Ranboo is thrust deeper into worry for his friend. 

“Do it.” Ghostbur spits. And Phil does. He lunges forward, plunges his sword into his son, and Tommy  _ screams._

_ “Ghostbur!” _

He stumbles forward blindly, and Ranboo reaches for him before he throws himself off a ledge by mistake, doing his best to usher him away from cliffs even as he flinches away from touch and chokes on his own breath. 

The room is silent, Phil watches Tommy with confusion, and Fundy searches the rubble for his father. But the room is silent. (Save Tommy’s breathing, of course, panic attacks aren’t particularly known for being quiet.)

Ranboo just manages to lead Tommy to the most solid ground he can find in this crater when there’s an echoey scream. Tommy’s head shoots up, just in time to see Ghostbur sit upright and start to cough. 

* * *

“Well that was bloody anticlimactic,” Ghostbur says, and Tommy could cry. He pushes his hair from his eyes and mutters “I need to go,” so low it’s barely audible. Ghostbur just talks on, about how he’s a double ghost and about new ceremonies and about totems of undying and about missions of unity. And Tommy says again, “I need to go.” 

But Eret grabs his arm gently and holds even as he yanks himself away. 

He needs your support for this,” he says, a grim look, “he’s doing it for you, he needs you here.”

And Tommy just nods because what else can he do? It’s not like he can say no, he lost that ability a while ago. So he listens to Eret and he stays. Even as Phil stabs Wil once more. Even as his scream grates Tommy’s ears. Even as every bone in his body is yelling for him to  _get out get out get the fuck out_ _._ Even as Ghostbur slams back into his body again with a cough that won’t quit and a drunken lilt to his step. 

Phil is worried at that. Ghostbur coughs again. He mumbles to himself still.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Says Ghostbur, in a voice Tommy hasn’t heard in a while. “I’m back here with you fuckers?”

Fundy takes a full step away from him.

“Schlatt?”

And Tommy can’t deal with that today, that’s where he draws the fucking line, so he stops paying attention, vaguely takes in details of conversation, until-

“I want a cigarette.” He says, and Tommy’s heart stops. 

An image of Wilbur floats to the top of his mind. As Tommy saw him, feet dangling off the stairs in the ravine of Pogtopia. (He was so adverse to adding railings, like the very idea of safety put him on edge. _ “Because Wilbur likes falling to his death_ _.”_ ) Tommy tucked himself in a room beneath the steps, Wil stared up with a spacey look in his eyes, grayed over and tired with these deep purple bags like bruises. He held a cigarette between his fingers loosely, smoke curling away from his lips and up up up into the night sky above. Tommy had never been more worried for his brother. 

“Did Schlatt smoke?” His vision goes spotty before him. 

Fundy’s ear flicks. “I don’t know. If he did, I never saw. But Quackity is probably better suited to answer that.”

“Why do you ask?” Ranboo says, awkward, uncomfortable, formal. His tail is in Tommy’s hand and he appreciates it for the comfort it tries to give. 

Philza’s face screws up and Tommy feels a little hotter. (“Phil is not a good guy, I reckon” Phil  _laughs_ _._ )

“Did Wil smoke?” He says it like the words are sour in his mouth. Like smoking is the worst thing he could imagine his son doing. Something in Tommy snaps a little, something tightly wound and very carefully kept. 

“So you’ll let him lose his mind without feeling the need to step in but cigarettes is where you draw the line. Good to know.” He spits, then reins himself back in, heart pounding. 

“Tommy that isn’t what I-“

“It’s fine.”

He pulls his arms tight around his chest, trying not to curl in on himself. 

“Toms-“ Phil reaches towards him. 

“Don’t call me that.” Tommy steps away. _It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine._

“We got it wrong,” says Eret, “we have to try again, this is wrong.”

And it is but it isn’t. It’s closer to Wil than the ghost’s ever been. But it’s not Wilbur yet, it’s still yellow and happy, and now there’s that space for Schlatt, who pushes through the veil and complains about being back and asks for alcohol with his scratchy voice, who says “Mr. Innit.” And “How are you? How is Tubbo?” and tells Phil he abandoned his kid, Ghostbur limp like a puppet. Phil laughs and Fundy winces and Tommy stays frozen in place, turns his nose up. 

“I think we should try again,” says Ghostbur, his words just slightly slurred. Eret looks at Fundy, clocks his discomfort. Ranboo's tail curls Tommy’s hand a bit tighter. 

“Well, I don’t know what to do. That should’ve worked,” says Eret. “All my research says that should’ve worked.”

“It didn’t!” Phil runs a hand through his hair, “your research isn’t shit. We need something else. We need a totem to get it to work right. Everything I read called for a totem.”

“Most people don’t just have those on them, Phil,” says Fundy, hands waving in frustration as a smirk creeps onto Philza’s face. 

“Well lucky for you lot, I’m not most people.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to comment im desperate for your validation


	3. I guess we're gonna find out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you fucking kidding me?” Says Ghostbur, in a voice that is very much not his own. “I’m back here with you fuckers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's Tubbo time babey

Ranboo never knew Schlatt. Arrived days after his death, in the wake of a few tragedies and a few betrayals. He was overshadowed in a way. You don’t blame the bad guy for being bad, though, do you? It hurts more when someone you love turns, and L’manburg was aching from it.

The man’s reputation precedes him. He’s got mixed reviews from the people of L’manburg. A tyrant, a guy trying his best, a lonely drunk, a dying man. Jschlatt was a lot of things.

One of those things is someone Ranboo never thought he’d meet, but today is just full of surprises, isn’t it?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Says Ghostbur, in a voice that is very much not his own. “I’m back here with you fuckers?”

Fundy takes a step away. “Schlatt?”

Ghostbur limply turns to him, limbs dangling as if he’s held up by strings. “Fox boy? What the fuck did you do?”

His voice sounds just as Ranboo imagined it would in a strange way. Scratchy around the edges, sharp and perpetually angry.

“What the fuck did I do?” Fundy’s face goes sour, “what the fuck are you doing here? We don’t want you.”

Ghostbur’s eyebrows pinch together in an expression that looks wrong on his usually pleasant face. “Yeah, well I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.” His mouth doesn’t move in the right shapes when he speaks, like he hasn’t practiced being alive. “Being dead was fine. I don’t wanna be back in this shithole!” He pauses. “I want a cigarette.”

Phil steps in front of Fundy, face tight in what Ranboo can only assume is restrained anger. Philza hates Schlatt more than he hates just about anything on this server. Blames him for Wilbur’s madness, views him as so very intertwined with government and corruption, like a virus. He’s only ever spoken his name with disdain. Seeing him in the body of his son can’t be something he’s enjoying. “We don’t want you to be here either. We weren’t reaching for you.”

“Did Schlatt smoke?”

Tommy speaks above Phil like he doesn’t even realize he’s talking. His voice is hollow and desolate in a way Ranboo is painfully used to. He saw it in exile a lot. Resigned rage and sadness and fear, a melting pot of emotions, none of them good, but instead of melting they’re just going cold. He watches in real time as Tommy trips and falls into the depths of his own mind. He wishes it wasn’t a familiar sight.

Fundy glances at him, almost uncomfortably. He’s known Tommy a long time, they fought a war together, they’re _blood_. He can probably spot the way Tommy’s fading in and out, hot and then cold, swaying on his feet like his legs can’t take the weight. “I don’t know. If he did, I never saw. But Quackity is probably better suited to answer that.”

Schlatt glares at Tommy. It’s strange to see Ghostur’s eyes tinged with anger, especially at his brother. Ghostbur adores Tommy, usually stares at him like he’s hung the moon. “You can ask me, I’m right here,” Schlatt’s grating voice leaves soft lips. Tommy pointedly ignores him.

Ranboo says, “why do you ask, Tommy?” But Tommy stares straight through him, right at Phil as he wrinkles his nose.

“Did will smoke?” He asks. Tommy meets his father’s eyes, and he’s hot now, he’s in, Ranboo can see it. He’s rooted to the ground by his own bitterness.

“So you’ll let him lose his mind without feeling the need to step in but cigarettes are where you draw the line,” he huffs. “Good to know.”

Phil sighs, almost rolling his eyes, “Tommy that isn’t what I-“

“It’s fine.”

Tommy cuts him off, getting colder by the second. His eyes widen and go foggy, as if he’s just realized what he said. He curls in on himself a bit, stares daggers at the ground. That pang of sympathy twinges in Ranboo’s chest again.

“Toms-“ Phil goes to put a hand on his shoulder, but Tommy takes a full step back.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, shortly.

Schlatt just chuckles at the scene.

“Philza Minecraft?” He coos. “Finally came back for your kid, did you?” Ghostbur (Ghostschlatt? Glatt?) smirks like he knows he’s poking a nerve.

“I resent that.” Phil’s face is kept carefully passive. Tommy’s eyes stay down.

“Resent it all you want old man, doesn’t change a thing. Anyone have whiskey?” He looks at Tommy. “Mr. Innit.” He smiles, a greeting that drips with irony.

Tommy’s chin tilts up a bit. “Schlatt.” He bites.

“How are you? How’s Tubbo?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” Eret pushes to the front. “Could you please leave our friend’s body, Schlatt, we’re kind of in the middle of something.”

“I mean I didn’t ask to be here but sure,” he shrugs, “I’ll let the ole’ ghost back through.”

He shuts his eyes in concentration, and a pair of horns flash on his head, like a glitch. He coughs once, twice, and then he’s hacking up a lung and glitching even more, going fuzzy around the edges. The sound of his voice goes soft.

Ghostbur chirps, “that was weird!” He clears his throat. “I think we should try again.”

“Well, I don’t know what to do.” Eret runs a hand through her hair. “That should’ve worked. All my research says that should’ve worked.”

“It didn’t!” Phil snaps, and Tommy stands up straighter, like he’s anticipating something.

( _A punch_ , says a voice in his head, _an explosion._ _You’re smart enough to figure out why he’s like this now. Context clues, Ranboo, you’re not as dumb as you want to be,_ it sounds suspiciously like Dream, and Ranboo jerks his head to shake it away.)

“Your research isn’t shit.” Phil says, “We need something else. We need a totem to get it to work right. Everything I read called for a totem.”

“Most people don’t just have those on them, Phil!”

But Philza just smiles. “Well, lucky for you lot, I’m not most people.”

He places down an enderchest.

* * *

To say Tubbo was worried would be an understatement.

They were okay just a moment ago. Tommy was rattling on about redecorating his house, fixing it up, and clearing the dust. Tubbo was talking about building a path to it from Snowchester, so they could quickly travel between, never have to be separated for long. Tommy called him clingy with a joking sort of confidence he hadn’t been able to muster for a while. It made Tubbo beam, it made Tubbo _proud_. They were good, they were okay, they were _normal_ , or at least, they were getting there.

Of course, Tubbo and Tommy aren’t really allowed to be normal, are they?

Tubbo walked inside his house, tugging off his jacket and dropping it on a table. He started digging through a chest with one hand while holding his communicator in the other.

“I was thinking of using soul sand for the floor of the tunnel, that way we could move even quicker with the right gear.” He smiled at the thought of Tommy being close by again, “what do you think?” he asked Tommy, but the chatter turned to silence. Tubbo thought maybe the signal cut or something, but the quiet just stretched and stretched and stretched.

“Tommy?” He said into the little box, dropping the chest and walking to a window, abandoning his search for whatever the fuck he’d been looking for in favor of the hot panic that began to surge through his veins. “Can you hear me?”

There was rustling from the speaker, an almost choked sound, and Tubbo’s heart dropped. He picked his jacket up off the table.

“You know, I was there,” Tommy muttered, in that tone of voice he gets on when he’s pretending to be okay-performative, loud, and quick, like he can’t get the words off his tongue fast enough. It’s distant and it’s not a good sign. He may not know everything Tommy’s been through, but he’s aware enough to know that.

“Tommy are you there? _Hello?_ ”

Silence. More rustling, Ghostbur’s voice, and Ranboo, and-

_Philza_. Philza fuckin Minecraft, 'angel of death,' harbinger of destruction, Tommy’s dad. Who’s supposed to be gone, who’s supposed to be off with Techno like always, who tore their country to the ground in front of them and blamed them for the bad things it became.

(Philza who Tubbo strapped an ankle monitor on, who he shot, who used to treat him like his own, who’s friend Tubbo tried to kill, whose son he exiled.)

Philza spoke and Tubbo grabbed his sword and marched out his front door. His focus became singular: Fuck his house and fuck his path, he needed to get to Tommy.

Anyone with eyes can see that Tommy’s been through it, anyone with ears can hear it in his voice. He’s jittery now, jumpy and quick to do what you say. It scares Tubbo like nothing else. It makes him sick with guilt.

“Tommy, are you okay?” He said, rushing down the stairs, “Toms where are you, I need you to tell me where you are.” He spoke carefully, with urgency, and he could hear the panic seeping into his voice but didn’t care enough to hide it. As soon as Tubbo reached the ground, though, the line went dead.

So now Tubbo’s here. Running to Tommy’s house, sword strapped to his hip. Dialing and redialing and redialing his friend, choked with fear that he’s gotten himself into some shit again, that his dad’s killed him or Technoblade decided that a destroyed country wasn’t a big enough price and they had to lose more.

His life is pretty fucked, huh?

He stops dialing and messages Tommy. _No response._ He calls again. _No response._ He just tries to run faster.

All he can do is hope he gets to Tommy before anyone else does.

Tubbo’s real tired of relying on hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. leave a comment if you liked it, they literally make my day :D
> 
> Byee


	4. And I couldn't stop myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They take it from the top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i think this chapter's kind of neat, let me know how you all feel :)

A totem of undying. Philza has a totem of undying.

It glints in his hand, light from the sun glaring off its shiny golden surface.

Tommy wonders vaguely where he got it. If he had it on Doomsday. If he slaughtered them with such confidence because he knew they couldn’t touch them if they tried. If that makes him a bad person, a bad father.

(It wasn’t always this way. Their family used to be whole, used to be dinners together and bandaged wounds and comfort. Phil loved him once, maybe. He gave Tommy a home, gave Tommy Wilbur, which is better than Tommy could’ve ever asked for, better than Tommy deserved. He doesn’t know when that love stopped.)

He wonders if Technoblade gave it to him. If he launched his attack on his home an hour early, and on top of that gave Phil another safety net, like L’manburg ever stood a real chance.

( _Don’t risk your life for me_ , said the Blood god to Angel of Death.

_It was never at risk_. )

He wonders bitterly why they never gave one to him.

(It’s selfish, he knows. It’s greedy and shallow and it’s not his place to want things like that. But Tommy can’t help it, he’s materialistic. He holds onto things like they’ll disappear if he loosens his grip, he can’t take what you say as it is. He needs proof, and when he doesn’t have it, he’s not gonna believe what you say, no matter how honey-sweet your voice sounds. He learned the hard way that a sweet voice is not the equivalent of a kind person.

The gaping absence of reassurance that Techno valued him as anything more than an asset keeps him up at night. Ugly, biting questions gnawing at his mind and making his chest tighten until it can’t take in any air.

Did Technoblade care about him when he took him in? Did he ever care at all? Or did he just use Tommy like he claims they used him?

Tommy never intended to take advantage of Technoblade in the first place. He was just so stuck. Sixteen, trying to lead a war effort, trying to pull his brother away from the edge, trying to keep his best friend from losing his final life. He was so busy trying to hold it all together. He didn’t even realize it, really. He didn’t _mean_ to use Techno, it wasn’t a choice he made.

Techno is like Phil, in a way. He used to love Tommy, maybe. But not anymore.

It’s a trend in his life that Tommy’s not fond of, people leaving. Phil as a child, off to new worlds and old friends. Then Wilbur, to the tick and boom of a stick of TNT, the righteous fire of madness. Technoblade to withers and anarchy, starting a new life away, the sting of betrayal. And Tubbo, to the duties of a president, to his own mistakes, accompanied by a grief he never thought he’d know.

_Dream as well,_ an ugly voice in him whispers, _you lost him to your own foolishness, your own stupid naivety, your insolence, your weakness, your defiance._

But in the end, it doesn’t matter who left or why, it matters that they did and they always do and Tommy can’t figure out what he’s doing wrong. They tell him he’s loud, so he stops talking, and then they’re mad that he doesn’t speak. They tell him he causes conflict and the minute he stops he’s being weak.

Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’s just unlovable.)

Ranboo tugs at his sleeve and Tommy snaps back in.

“So I just hold it?” Ghostbur asks, nervously.

Phil nods, earnest as he gently places the totem in his hands, stained with blue dye.

“We need to do it one more time,” he winces around the words, and Tommy’s body feels impossibly tight. His communicator buzzes in his hand but he can’t pull his attention to it.

“We should stand back over here,” Ranboo says softly, tugs Tommy to the right spot when his brain is too slow to process things right. Ranboo was always too kind. He’ll figure out that Tommy’s poison sometime soon though. People who love Tommy don’t get to stay. And even Ranboo stopped writing him in exile eventually. When there’s no longer a debt to be paid, friendship isn’t quite so easy.

They take it from the top.

“There was a special place,” says Ghostbur, “there _was_ , but I don’t think it can exist anymore. The thing that I built this nation for doesn’t exist anymore.”

Tommy takes a breath. _In_.

“It’s over.”

_Out_.

“What are you doing?”

_In_.

“Phil?”

_Out_. His voice shakes, Ghostbur’s portrayal is accurate in that.

“What are you doing?”

_In._ Philza’s mastered the inflection. The words are precise, _so_ precise.

“Phil.”

_Out_.

“Mhm. In L’manburg, you said?”

_In._ A piercing gaze, condescending in its worry.

“This is. This is L’man-okay. I will admit. Do you know what this button is?” 

_Out_. Wil’s words aren’t precise. They’re erratic and red, so fucking red, Ghostbur lost the blue and found the red.

“Uh-huh. I do.”

_In_.

“Have you heard the song on the walls before? Have you heard the song?” 

_Out_. Tommy has. Tommy knows the song by heart. Tommy’s sung it to a crater in the rain. Tommy’s heard it from the shakey lips of a brother trying to rock him to sleep in a ravine in the woods on the worst day of his life. (Back then. He’s had worse days now.)

“I was just saying-I made this big point and it was poignant. And it was that there _was_ a special place, there was a special place, but it’s not there anymore.”

_In._ _There was there was there was_. Tommy doesn’t want to know how this conversation went. He doesn’t want to watch it again now that they’ve found their footing in the scene. Tommy's chest already aches from the first two attempts.

“It _is_ there. You’ve just won it back.”

_Out_. A hand on the shoulder. Nearly phases through. Tommy’s cold with sweat.

“Phil I’m always so close to pressing this button, Phil. I’ve been here-seven or eight times I’ve been here.”

_In._ He flinches away from the touch like it burns. Are they still acting?

“They’re fighting! They’re fighting.”

_Out_. _How?_ He wonders _. How do they know these words so well? Do they dream about it like him? Do they think about it? Replay it in their minds?_

“And you want to just blow it all up?”

_In_.

“I do, I think I do.”

_Out_.

“You fought so hard to get this land back.”

_In_.

“I don’t even know if it works anymore.”

_Out_. It’s so familiar it aches. The airiness of Wil’s tone, the stern softness of Phil’s. The last hour has been torture but _this_. This is too accurate. It was janky before but now it fits, it fits too well. They’re taking it seriously and it shows, _God_ does it show.

“I _could_ press it.”

_In_.

“Do you really wanna take that risk?”

_Out_. A nervous laugh, practiced.

“There’s a lot of TNT potentially connected to that button.”

_In._ Phil’s a better actor than Tommy realized.

“Phil.”

_Out_.

“There was a saying Phil.”

_In_. Tensed shoulders, clenched fists.

“By a traitor.”

_Out_.

“Once part of L’manburg.”

_In_.

“A traitor I don’t know if you’ve heard of, Eret?”

_Out_.

“Yeah?”

_In_.

“He had a saying Phil.”

_Out_. He brings his hand up, shaky, into a perfect salute, the posture of a president.

“It was never meant to-“

_Out_. Fundy flinches.

“It was never meant to be.”

_In._ Eret does too.

“ _Oh my gods._ ”

_Out_.

A pause. Ghostbur blinks. The air is tense with silence. This bit’s hard to act out. So they don’t.

_In._ Tommy might cry.

“My L’manburg Phil.”

_Out_. It’s euphoric, the way he screams it. He grips Ranboo.

“My unfinished symphony! Forever unfinished!”

_In._ Tommy didn’t ask for this. Ranboo holds back.

“What did you do?”

_Out_. Phil watches Wil smile.

“If I can’t have this no one can, Phil.”

_In_. The totem shines in Ghostbur’s hand and Tommy could scream. He could yell his throat raw, he could sob. He doesn’t want to lose him. He doesn’t want him to leave again.

“Oh my God.”

_Out_.

“Kill me, Phil.

_In_. Tears sting his eyes. Tommy just wants his brother back.

“Phil kill me.”

_Out_. This is the last he’s gonna see of Ghostbur. _This_.

“Phil stab me with the sword.”

_In_. It clangs against the stone.

“Phil kill me, murder me now.”

_Out._

“Kill. Killza. _Killza!_ ”

_In_.

“Look they all want you to.”

_Out_. Tommy doesn’t. Tommy wants nothing less. Tommy’s never wanted anything less.

“Do it, Phil, Kill me.”

_In_. Ranboo grabs him, concerned. 

“Kill me”

_Out_. Tommy shakes his head violently.

“You’re my son!”

_In._ Tommy doesn’t appreciate the way he can feel it all again.

“Kill me!”

_Out_. He doesn’t appreciate the spots in his eyes.

“No matter what you did.”

_In_. He doesn’t appreciate the way his ears ring.

“Look! Look how much work went into this and it’s gone.”

_Out_. He doesn’t appreciate the hollowness inside his skull. The space that expands.

“Do it.”

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

There’s an explosion of light as the sword pierces skin.

_In._

_Out._

He doesn’t appreciate the way it all goes black.

(And as Tommy slips out of consciousness into the cold dark, for the first time in a long time, Wilbur Soot wakes up.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> i'm still actually reeling from Tommy's last stream, like holy heck
> 
> anyway, i hope you liked it!! if you did, leave a comment and make my day >:D
> 
> Byee


	5. But I don't really know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo knows of totems of undying, but he sort of always just half assumed that things like that were myths. That once you died you were dead and that was that.
> 
> Today has been good at proving him wrong though, and it isn’t stopping now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeyyyy folks  
> i'm literally actively falling asleep while posting this, so don't judge my mistakes too harshly  
> enjoy :)

Ranboo’s never seen a totem of undying before. He’s heard of them, of course, everyone has. Whispers of hidden mansions in deep woods, of necromancy and witchcraft. Rumors like that reach every corner of the world. People who’ve claimed to have found one, people proven wrong again and again. He always regarded it with vague disinterest. Ranboo figures that when it’s his time to go he’ll just go. Some people need reassurance though. And some people want to live forever. 

So yeah, Ranboo knows of totems of undying, but he sort of always just half assumed that things like that were myths. That once you died you were dead and that was that. 

Today has been good at proving him wrong though, and it isn’t stopping now. 

The totem is pretty, in a funny way. He neverreally pictured them but when he did they weren’t like that. He thought it’d be bigger for some reason, it doesn’t feel grand enough. The totem shiny and heavy-looking. The jewels on it glitter in the sun. The gold is stained blue by the dye on Ghostbur’s hands. 

Phil is giving Ghostbur soft instructions as he hands him the totem, holding his son’s hands around the relic. Ghostbur is nodding attentively. 

Tommy stares at the thing and his eye twitches. Ranboo winces. This is not a good day for Tommy. He can see it in the stiffness in his body, he heard it in the tightness of his voice after the first attempt, the scream and the ragged breaths. He can’t imagine the effect reliving things like this can have on a person. 

Your own brother’s death. By the father who left you twice. All over again, in front of your eyes. 

(He may be living with Phil now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t disagree with some of the things he’s done. 

Alivebur was bad, but he was sick. He needed help not a sword in the chest. 

L’manburg needed to go, maybe. But Tommy and Tubbo didn’t need any more trauma. 

And Dream certainly didn’t need an ally.)

Ranboo pulls on Tommy’s sleeve, a feeble attempt to anchor him in place. Tommy gives him a weak smile. He feels a little helpless standing here, Tommy breathing shallowly, Phil clenching his jaw and Ghostbur nervously skirting all eye contact. He offers the support he can, a hand on the shoulder. A calm reassurance. It all feels hollow from his lips. 

“So I just hold it?” Says Ghostbur, and Ranboo’s communicator buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it. 

Phil nods. “We need to do it one more time.”

Ghostbur looks nervous at the prospect. Ranboo’s communicator buzzes again, but he ignores it, grabs Tommy, mutters something about standing back, and pulls him away from the action. They need to be in position and Ranboo doesn’t want Tommy to be too close. He’s been through enough, he figures. He watches Eret do the same to Fundy. Maybe they all have. 

His communicator beeps again and this time Ranboo pulls it out, keeps a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. 

_ Ranboo _

_ Ranboo. _

_it's_ _Tubbo_

His messages come rapid, one after the other,  _ping ping ping ping._

_ where are you? _

_ is Tommy with you? _

_ answer me dammit _

_ Ranboo _

_ i heard Phil _

_ is Tommy okay?? _

Ranboo nearly slumps over with relief at the idea of someone who knows how to help. He types back. 

**Yes. We’re in the cater. The button room. **

In front of him, Ghostbur and Philza start the scene. 

_ why the hell are you there?? christ.  _

**I know.**

_ what’s going on? _

_ is Tommy okay? i was talking to him and he froze up and the line went dead _

** He’s fine, he’s alive, just shaken up a bit. We’re  **

** Well **

He hesitates, just for a moment.

_spit it out, man_

**We’re trying to resurrect Wilbur **

There’s a pause before the next message and Ranboo can feel it under his skin. 

(He can also feel the way Tommy’s trembling beside him. It’s worse than the first time somehow, he keeps getting worse and worse and Ranboo doesn’t know what to do. With each death Tommy reaches another peak, above what Ranboo thought achievable. He worries for his friend.)

_ you’re what _

He can feel the weight of it, goes on the defensive.

** It was Ghostbur’s idea.  **

**Phil and Eret helped.**

** Tommy kind of walked in on it by mistake  **

_shit is he okay? _

_ shit _

_ they were gonna resurrect him without Tommy??? asshole move _

__ Ranboo will admit he didn't think of that.

_ can you keep him away from Phil until I get there? _

Tubbo’s a good friend, he thinks. He’s good for Tommy. He’s messed up in the past but he’s trying to make up for it and that’s what counts, right? Making an effort?

** I’ll do my best.  **

** Phil’s a good guy, Tubbo. I’m sure you don’t have to worry.  **

_ he blew up my home. good guys don’t do things like that Ranboo.  _

_ just keep him away from Tommy, alright? _

** Okay.  **

He can sense the venom in the words. And honestly, Ranboo can’t argue with it. It’s not his place. He just clicks off his communicator and turns his attention back to the actors. 

Ghostbur stands firm, facing a button. Phil stands behind him, wings twitching. 

“Phil?”

“What are you doing?”

Ranboo doesn’t have a confident understanding of what happened the first time L’manburg was destroyed. He doesn’t have anything concrete. He has a general rundown and that’s it. Wilbur pressed a button, Techno released withers. Unreliable narrators and tragedy and bias all swam together to make an almost incomprehensible jumble of explanation. Ranboo knows the basics, but past that people aren’t willing to talk, and when they are it’s always faulty. 

This isn’t what he expected. He didn’t know what to expect. But this isn’t what he expected. 

When he heard about the 16th he assumed its was yelling and speeches and drama. And maybe it was. But this strikes Ranboo as more of a desperate man talking to the guy who’s barely his father anymore. 

“Phil.”

“Mhm. In L’manburg, you said?”

It hits Ranboo that there’s something different now. Something essential in this portrayal has changed. It’s not disjointed anymore. It  _ flows _ _._ He feels again like he’s imposing, like this is something he isn’t meant to see. It feels to personal, too important to be witnessed by just anyone. 

"This is.” He pauses. “This is L’man-“ trails off, “okay. I will admit. Do you know what this button is?”

Ranboo’s never heard Ghostbur speak like this. He would’ve never taken the man (ghost?) to be a good actor, but judging by the way Tommy’s started to rock on his feet and Fundy’s grabbed Eret for support, he’s hitting the nail directly on the head. 

“Uh-huh.” It’s condescending almost. A disapproving parent, an _‘I’m not mad, just disappointed.’_

“I do.”

“Have you heard the song on the walls before? Have you heard the song?”

Ranboo hasn’t. It’s interesting to him. Join the cabinet, kill our enemy, all before you learn the words to the national anthem. 

“I was just saying-I made this big point and it was poignant. And it was that there  was a special place, there _was_ a special place, but it’s not there anymore.”

Tommy’s muttering under his breath. Ranboo doesn’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. “No.” He says, and blinks hard, “not again,  _not again_ _._ ” He squeezes his shoulder gently. 

“It  _is_ there.” A strained smile, hand on a ghostly shoulder. The performance looks like it stings. “You’ve just won it back. ”

Ghostbur steps away. “Phil I’m always so close to pressing this button!” His voice shakes, echoey as ever. “ _ Phil _ . I’ve been here-seven or eight times I’ve been here.”

Seven or eight. That feels like a lot. Ranboo doesn’t know much about explosives or obsession, but that feels like a lot. 

“They’re fighting!” Hands in his hair. The movements are tense. “They’re _fighting._ ”

Ranboo doesn’t know much about anything. 

“And you want to just blow it all up?”

He sighs. “I do, I think I do.”

He shuts his eyes tight, like the light burns him. His hands are trembling. 

“You fought so hard to get this land back.”

“I don’t even know if it works anymore.”

He meets his father’s eyes and immediately breaks the gaze. 

“I  _could_ press it.” He touches the button lightly, blue dye stains it when he pulls his hand away. 

“Do you really wanna take that risk? There’s a lot of TNT potentially connected to that button.”

_P_ _otentially._ They weren’t even sure. Alivebur wasn’t sure and he still pressed it. Ghostbur takes a breath, the performance wavering. 

“Phil. There was a saying Phil.”

Eret braces themself.

“By a traitor, once part of L’manburg. A traitor I don’t know if you’ve heard of, Eret?”

“Yeah?”

“He had a saying Phil. It was never meant to-“ he loses momentum, just for a second, falters. Takes a breath, resigns. “It was never meant to be.”

Phil sighs. “Oh my gods.” The words fall a little flat. 

The silence sits in the air. Tommy holds him so tight his knuckles are white, and Ranboo does his best to hold too. 

“My L’manburg Phil.” Says Ghostbur, a glint in his eye, the shaky delivery of a lines undermined by the fire he’s managed to find. “My unfinished symphony! Forever unfinished!”

Phil’s voice is unsteady. 

“What did you do?”

Tommy mutters something else besides him, louder now, loud enough that Eret glances over. Ranboo hopes Tubbo gets here soon. 

“If I can’t have this no one can, Phil!”

“Oh my God.”

“Kill me Phil.”

Tommy chokes on a sob and Ranboo’s chest burns with worry.  _Hurry, Tubbo,_ he thinks uselessly. He’s always so fucking useless. 

“Phil kill me. Phil stab me with the sword. Phil kill me, murder me now. Kill.  Killza. _Killza!_ Look, they all want you to.”

Phil spares them a glance. Tommy meets his eyes. Phil grips his sword. 

“Do it Phil, Kill me.”

Ranboo checks his communicator. 

“Kill me”

Tommy exhales roughly, he shakes his head, tears stream down his cheeks. 

“You’re my son.”

Tommy wrenches himself for Ranboo’s grip for a moment and dives forward, a scream tearing its way from his throat. “Stop! Please don’t! Not again!” His voice cracks, his eyes are far again, probably doesn’t even realize he’s shouting. Ranboo catches his arm and yanks him backward. He whispers “not again.”

“Kill me!”

Tommy rambles. Tommy cries and yells and spits nonsense. He struggles against Ranboo, he tries to run. Phil ignores him. Ghostbur seems too lost in the scene to notice it. Fundy watches in horror. 

“No matter what you did.” 

“Phil, stop! Ghostbur! This isn’t fair this isn’t-“

Ranboo checks his comms. 

“Look! Look how much work went into this and it’s gone.” 

" _Stop, stop, stop_. You don’t have to- _Wilbur! Ghostbur!_ ”

“Do it.”

Tommy’s hysteric, and Ranboo isn’t strong enough for this. He’s not the most athletically inclined guy, and Tommy’s a soldier, a fighter. Even in his panic he knows his own strength. Ranboo can’t keep him for long. 

Phil lunges forward. Ghostbur smiles. Tommy shrieks. 

Then it’s like an explosion.

The air is filled with a blinding light. A totem going off, green and gold, strings and spark and rays. Phil is flung back, his wings puff out. Fundy throws his arms in front of his eyes, grabbing at Eret for support. 

Tubbo crests the hill of rubble, calls for his friend.

_Thank_ __G_ od, Ranboo almost thinks.  Thank God he’s here, he knows what to do and I don’t know what to do. I never know what to do. _

But he doesn’t have time to finish the thought before Tommy’s eyes roll back, and he collapses in Ranboo’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! comment if you liked it! have a good day >:D  
> Byee


	6. Nowhere to run to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you have to negotiate, sometimes you have to compromise, and when all else fails, you have to get creative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what’s up folks? it’s Tubbo time once again

In Tubbo’s time as president, he learned a fair few lessons. 

None of them were all that good if he’s being honest. A lot of 'peace was never an option’ and ‘you’re not allowed to be happy.’

Violence is the only universal language, right? He learned that one well. 

But he also learned something about diplomacy. Standing up straight and facing assholes head-on with a professional smile that doesn’t scream ‘I want to gut you like a fucking fish.’ Clean jackets and ties make people more willing to hear you out. If you use big words, adults like it. Make eye contact, speak clearly. Sometimes you have to negotiate, sometimes you have to compromise, and when all else fails, you have to get creative. 

When Tommy doesn’t pick up his communicator, after trying and trying and trying, Tubbo figures get can reasonably assume all else has failed. 

He’s had practice with creativity (How about probation instead of exile? How about we monitor this instead? How about we vote instead of making a decision on our own? How about we think this through? How about we remember we’re not the only people in this country? How about we listen to you, and you let us be free?)

He keeps speeding towards Tommy’s house. As he’s running, he thinks it through. Gives the events an order. Organization has always helped him sort himself out. 

First, Tommy’s voice went quiet. Then Tommy’s voice went shaky. There was background noise, crackling, and scratching. _Ph il, _ Phil was there, his voice came through the static noise. It was Phil and Ghostbur and-

_ Ranboo_

Ranboo the traitor. Ranboo the friend. The only friend Tubbo had for a while.

He had heard Ranboo in the background of the call, just barely, that nervous lilt to his voice, soft and meek. He thanks whatever gods are up there for his luck. He pulls out his comms, trying to keep his hands steady. 

Despite everything, Ranboo didn’t betray them on purpose, and despite himself, Tubbo trusts him. It might not be a great option, but at the moment it’s the only one, and for now, that’ll have to do.

_ When all else fails, you have to get creative. _

He types out the name. 

(Tommy is relying on him. He’s not gonna leave him again. He deserves better than that.)

_ Ranboo_

It’s tough to type as he runs.  His thumbs fumble. 

_ Ranboo _

_ where are you? is Tommy with you? _

_ answer me dammit  _

_ Ranboo _

_ i heard Phil _

_ is Tommy okay?? _

There’s a pause and Tubbo waits with bated breath, still charging towards Tommy’s house, the only semblance of direction he has. When the message comes it takes a moment for Tubbo to unscramble the words. 

** Yes. We’re in the cater.  ** He replies. 

** The button room.  **

_ The button room. _ Tubbo winces. He can still remember the way Tommy screamed when Phil delivered the killing blow, the way his voice trembled when he called his father’s name, then his brother’s. What the fuck are they doing there? Why would they take Tommy there?

_ why the hell are you there?? christ.  _

** I know.  **

_ what’s going on? _

Tubbo wants answers. He doesn’t like sitting in the dark, especially when his best friend sounded a second away from breaking apart. 

_ is Tommy okay? i was talking to him and he froze up and the line went dead.  _

** He’s fine, he’s alive. We’re **

** Well **

_ spit it out, man _

** We’re trying to resurrect Wilbur.**

Momentarily, Tubbo stops his charge. 

His mind goes blank, recalibrates. 

_ you're  what _

Bring back Wilbur. Crazy, stupid, fucking Wilbur. Who put them through hell. Who handed him the presidency like it was a game of fucking hot potato. 

** It was Ghostbur’s idea, Phil and Eret helped. Tommy sort of walked in on it by mistake. **

Mistake. _ Mistake_ _._ How does that happen? How could they let that happen? How could  Tubbo let that happen? 

(“You’re the bad friend.” The water pours heavy around them and his heart beats out of his chest. He tries to pretend the words don’t hurt like they do.)

_ shit is he okay?_

_ shit _

_ they were gonna resurrect him without Tommy??? asshole move _

_ can you keep him away from Phil until i get there? _

** I’ll do my best. **

Then, ** Phil’s a good guy, Tubbo. I’m sure you don’t have to worry.  **

And Tubbo is fucking sick of hearing things like that. You have to understand it from their perspective, think about what they’ve gone through.  _Well, what about us?_ He thinks furiously.  _What about what we’ve gone through? We’ve been through hell and back, more than grown-ass adults go through, and we’re still here, and we’re still trying to better ourselves. They’re not._

_ Where's the pity for the children with the world on their shoulders? Where's the care for us? _

He’s not going to forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it. 

_ he blew up my home. good guys don’t do things like that, Ranboo. _

_ just keep him away from Tommy, alright?_

And he clicks off his comms. 

The button room. The crater. He can practically see Tommy standing there, shaking, trapped in my walls of rubble. He veers in the right direction and picks up the pace. 

Tommy has been through a lot. They all have. But Tommy’s endured things Tubbo will never know (the same is true vise verse but Tubbo’s never been good at letting himself be not okay. He doesn’t need help, he  _ is  _ help. It’s his job to support Tommy, and he’s already failed once. He can stand fine on his own.)

Tommy was the closest to Wilbur when he was losing it, standing in the blast radius and taking it because he loved the bastard. Harsh words and violent outbursts and paranoia, right next to him for  _months.  _

He watched his father murder his brother while his country fell apart around him, sword through the chest and collapsing structures. The person who should’ve come to their rescue, who instead sent them further into disarray. 

He watched helpless as a man he thought was his friend, a man who Tommy loved in that way Tommy loved everything, looked him dead in the eyes and declared him a traitor, told him to die like the hero he was never trying to be. ( _The_ _ Blade _wasn’t an insult, it wasn’t a means of keeping distance. Techno was Tommy’s hero. Tommy used to think he hung the stars.) 

Tubbo exiled him, his best friend, the one he was supposed to be able to trust, his “me and you against the world.” Turned his back, bitter and cold and so familiar to the old president, horns on his head. 

Tubbo doesn’t know exactly what happened in exile, but he’s got a decent idea. He’s not a fool. He sees the way Tommy flinches, the way he’s quiet, the way he cries out in his sleep, for mercy, in apology. 

He watched his home, that he  _ just  _ got back, that held the only remaining ties he had to his brother, demolished, by people he loved, people he  _loves.  _

He’s made his fair share of mistakes, it’s true. But he knows that. He understands that and he’s grown, over and over he’s grown, while everyone else stays stagnant around him. 

And even if he hadn’t, even if Tommy was a worse person than he is, he still wouldn’t deserve any of it. Tommy’s always been the hopeful one, maybe it’s not clear when you look at them, but Tommy’s the optimist, Tommy’s the one who believes in people’s better nature, their ability to change, and that belief has burned him again and again. And yet it hasn’t faltered. Tommy’s better than all that’s happened to him, Tommy’s still good _despite_ all that’s happened to him. And Tubbo will be damned if he lets something change that. 

He crests the hill. The button room is just paces away, he’s close, he’s nearly there and-

There’s an explosion of light. Tubbo sees it from across the mountain of rubble, stops dead in his tracks, and then takes off sprinting. “Tommy!” He cries, heart pounding in his ears. 

He pulls himself over the hill and sees a mess of things. 

For one-Philza, a twist in his brow, blinking at the light that continues to pour, this popping, glittering thing. Fundy, arm thrown over his eyes like a shield, Eret just behind him.  _Tommy,_ screaming, hysteric, eyes glazed over like he’s not even in his own body, Ranboo trying to hold him back from running straight into the fire of gold and green. 

“Wilbur!” He screams, voice cracking around the word. “Ghostbu-“

Ranboo spots him. “Tubbo!” He calls, clutching Tommy tightly. 

Tubbo speeds over, elbow up to cover his eyes as Phil is knocked back by the force of the  _whatever_ that  is happening here. 

(A totem. It’s a totem, just like Techno’s. They’re reviving him with a totem.)

He doesn’t stop when he reaches his friends.

Tubbo throws himself between Ranboo and Tommy and Phil, between Ranboo and Tommy and the light. 

(He’s here to protect him this time, he is. He’s not going to leave him again.)

He braces himself against the force, planting his feet. The sparks begin to fizzle out. Phil pulls himself to his feet, wings out and ruffled. Tubbo stares with wide, wide eyes. When he glances back he sees Tommy’s knees lock up, his body go limp in Ranboo’s grip. He only has a second to dive and catch Tommy as the light fades behind him. 

As the sparks die, Tubbo clutches Tommy. 

His bones ache. Popping makes him flinch, bright light makes his scars hurt. It’s all too familiar. He holds his friend like he’s going to slip away. 

There’s a cough from in front of them, hacking and wet, but Tubbo doesn’t lift his eyes from where they rest against Tommy’s shoulder. 

There’s a cough, and there’s a rustling. 

There’s a cough and then there’s a familiar voice, an old voice, barely a croak. 

“Toms?” Says Wilbur Soot, back from the dead. 

Tubbo holds Tommy tighter. He won't let go again. He _won't._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! if you liked it leave a comment. these are trying times, i’ll take any validation you’re willing to give hehe
> 
> Byee

**Author's Note:**

> there’s that. hope you enjoyed. feedback is appreciated. 
> 
> did you know it costs zero dollars to leave a comment? crazy, right? do with that information what you will ;)
> 
> thanks for reading!!
> 
> Byee


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